Not Ideal
by LadyAlambiel
Summary: Children? Children to lead the army? Narnia? And one a traitor? This was not ideal. It was swiftly turning to impossible in the eyes of one Centaur.
1. Part One

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't...

Summary: Children? Children to lead the army? Narnia? And one a traitor? This was not ideal. It was swiftly turning to impossible in the eyes of one Centaur.

 **Not Ideal**

 **Part One**

OOOOOOO

It was utter foolishness. Never in his life had he been presented with such a foolish, impossible task. But he dared not reveal it. He looked once at Aslan. He had not spoken since the Great Lion had bid him to hold his peace. A frisson of shame went through him as he recalled his outburst before the camp. _"Then he has betrayed us all."_

How was it that even the prophesied Four were not immune to treachery from within? Had there not been enough of that within the resistance during the Winter?

"Oreius."

Aslan's rich voice pulled him away from his bitter thoughts and he immediately bowed. "My Lord Aslan."

The golden gaze was penetrating as always and the Great Lion's voice was tinged with a rumbling purr as He spoke, "See that the Son of Adam receives training for the coming battle."

Oreius stepped forward. "The colt? We cannot take him into battle."

"Indeed, we will not. He will lead us into battle with you at his side." Aslan smiled slightly. "He needs your help, General."

OOOOOOO

What was everyone thinking? The Beavers, the Fox, even Aslan! They all kept looking at him with such expectation and he was such a failure.

"Is it satisfactory, your highness? Does it fit well? Can you move?"

He blinked and only just remembered to look down at the Rabbits, Moles, and Chipmunks gazing up at him. Their round dark eyes were fixed on him with a mix of expectation and utter wonderment. He swallowed hard then offered his best smile. "I am deeply indebted to you." He smoothed his hands over the practical and comfortable tunic. The leggings were a bit odd and a little too reminiscent of the nylons Mum wore for his personal taste but the boots were tall enough to hide most of it. He glanced at the little Animals again. "Ummm, can I help you with anything else?"

They made odd little snuffling noises and he realized they were laughing, their eyes shining with delight. The Chipmunk shook its head. "Oh, you're already doing it, your highness! You're going to save us! From the Witch! Save us from Jadis!"

"Save us!"

"We're so grateful you've come!"

"You are so brave! So kind!"

"Going to save us!"

"Going to save us! Thank you, Sire! Thank you!"

Peter didn't know what to do. He wanted to cry out that they were wrong. He wasn't anybody special. He couldn't even save his brother! He couldn't save them. He wasn't brave. But as they stared up at him with such trust, the words that would crush their hopes, that would reveal he was not the savior they seemed to think he was, would not come. Instead, he bowed his head and then strode out of the tent. He had to get away. He had to think.

He heard the whispers and felt the stares. A wild look around proved that more of the Narnians were watching him again, a mix of wonderment and expectation in their eyes as they paused in their various tasks once more. It took everything he had not to cower and run away. Oh if only they knew. If only they knew!

But his dad hadn't raised him to be a coward and he was still the man of the house even if home was far away (could they even go back now?). Head of the family. He swallowed hard. What was left of the family. Oh, Edmund. How he had failed him the most. Dad would be so disappointed. Mum would be devastated. Peter swallowed then forced himself to walk tall, shoulders back, and head high. He didn't know where he was going exactly but away from the tents seemed a good idea.

"Keep your sword at the ready if you intend to carry it. It is not an ornament."

Peter startled then whirled to see the dark Centaur with piercing eyes standing in the entrance of another tent. "Sir?"

The Centaur nodded to where he clasped the sword Father Christmas had given him in one hand. "It will only slow your reflexes if you continue carrying it like that. Put your sword about your waist if you mean to carry it or return it to your tent."

He stared at him almost uncomprehendingly. The Centaur sighed and shook his head a little, driving home Peter's ineptness. Throat tight with the hot words he could not, would not say, Peter mechanically buckled his sword around his waist. He reached up to adjust the shield but he had not put it back on. The Centaur still looked at him with far more questions in his dark eyes than the hope that had been in the eyes of the little Animals and even the Fauns who had first fetched the trunk of clothes. There was also something like a solemn disappointment in the Centaur's eyes.

Peter could not help but wonder if he was disappointed because they had failed to bring Edmund with them or because he saw Peter truly and certainly not as a savior or some sort of warrior. _His disappointment in me would be well deserved then._ The Centaur loomed over him as he approached and then reached down to tug at Peter's sword belt, shifting it over. "Your right hand is dominant. Make sure the hilt is an easy reach so you do not cut into your own arm when you draw it."

"Who are you, sir?" He almost didn't add the courtesy title, remembering how quick the Centaur had been to announce Edmund's treachery where any who had not heard Mr. Beaver still knew of it, but there was something about the creature's, the man's, the Centaur's manner that demanded respect as surely as any officer in the King's army.

The Centaur looked down at him, his angular face impassive and his dark gaze assessing. "I am Oreius. I serve as the general of Aslan's army." His gaze shifted to their surroundings and a barely perceptible sigh stirred the air. "Come. The rest of this conversation is best held in private."

He left him no choice but to follow as the Centaur left. They walked up to the hills overlooking the camp and only then did the General stop. Peter stepped forward. "Please, sir, you must understand that my brother is not . . . It is not solely his fault that he left us, that he believed her when she promised him . . . whatever it was she promised him."

A stern look was the only reply at first. Then the Centaur broke his silence but his tone was as stern and impassive as his expression. "Your mind should be focused on learning to wield your sword properly. If you hope to go into battle-"

"Battle!" He had imagined trying to enlist in the war effort at home; never mind he was but thirteen, he looked just old enough to pass for the older boys. However, he could never reason away the charge his dad gave him to be the man of the house while he was gone, that taking care of his mum and siblings were his task until Dad returned. It had just been a schoolboy's fancy to run off and join Dad in fighting, making sure Dad came home from the war.

He looked up at the Centaur, expecting a laugh or a smirk or some sort of sign that he was joshing him, but that dark gaze remained gravely serious. He gave a curt nod. "Battle. It is not ideal but we shall have to make do. Draw your sword."

"But you are unarmed," Peter protested, his sense of fair play refusing to do anything less than honorable.

A tiny smirk might have lifted the corner of the General's mouth but his stern tone did not change as he repeated, "Draw your sword, Son of Adam."

He stared at him then something in those dark eyes, a sense that the Centaur was confirming the fact that he was found wanting, pricked at him. Peter clenched his jaw. He dropped his hand to the sword but didn't draw it.

OOOOOOO

 **A/N: Please Read and Review! So this is not part of my ALitD-verse. In fact, let's go ahead and put this as being firmly in Sea of Deceit's Narnia playground. This was also requested by WillowDryad and is a month-late b-day present. :) Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one.**


	2. Part Two

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't...

Summary: Children? Children to lead the army? Narnia? And one a traitor? This was not ideal. It was swiftly turning to impossible in the eyes of one Centaur.

 **Not Ideal**

 **Part Two**

OOOOOOO

The colt stared up at him with a clear inner battle raging behind his blue eyes. The one who would have been a king rested his untried hand on the hilt of his sword, jaw clenched and nostrils flaring slightly.

Oreius watched him impassively even as he wondered if the little colt would dare to take up the challenge. He arched a single eyebrow. "If you do not have the fortitude to wield that blade, Son of Adam, then you should return it to your tent. I will inform Aslan that you have declined the task He set for you."

There a flare of anger. The colt's lips thinned into a tight line as he drew his blade with the awkwardness of one who had never held such a weapon before. "Defend yourself…sir."

Oreius hid a smirk as he spread his hands wide. The colt's eyes dropped to his hands as he knew they would and he struck in that moment of inattention. Catching the colt by the wrist, he easily twisted his sword away and then smacked him with just enough force to send the colt tumbling to the ground.

He didn't wait for the colt to get to his feet. "Never take your eyes off your enemy. His eyes will indicate his intent before his hands." Pacing in a circle around the colt, Oreius shook his head. How did Aslan expect such an inexperienced foal to lead the army into battle? Narnia did not need a figurehead. Narnia needed the Four of prophecy, the promised ones who were to aid in Jadis' ultimate downfall. Instead, Narnia had been given foals, three foals instead of four because one had betrayed them to her. Inexperienced, unprepared foals. He might as well serve as Jadis' executioner instead of sending this foal into battle. The two were nearly the same.

He glared at the colt, who was still sitting on the ground, not out of breath but merely looking out over the camp below. Foolish. "Have you given up?"

There. The colt's jaw clenched and he scrambled to his feet again, snatching up his sword. Oreius watched him, waiting for him to finish losing his temper, but the colt surprised him. Steel glinted in the colt's eyes, an icy fire stirred there too, but he did not charge in blindly. Instead, he swung the sword low. Oreius sidestepped, turning as he did so. The colt lost his footing slightly but he kept the sword mostly straight.

Oreius growled, "Sword point up!"

The sword's point came up as the colt charged in. Oreius snatched the sword away and once more knocked the colt to the ground. This time, though, he did not stay down there. He scrambled upright, fists clenched. Then he lunged. Oreius grunted as a single fist caught his ribs before he once again swatted the colt down. He pinned the colt easily by placing a hoof on his chest, barely pressing down. "Focus on your surroundings. Use your anger to hone your focus. Do not let it cloud your judgment or your awareness of everything and everyone around you. If you wish to protect your sisters, you will learn everything I am able to teach you before battle is engaged."

The colt's eyes narrowed, still angry, but Oreius could see the gleam of intelligence in those same eyes. If the colt could keep his head, if his swordsmanship dramatically improved, if he gained a little more strength or a little more height… If.

Oreius stepped back, freeing the colt, as he shook his head. The grim truth stared at him. This foal was not ready. It was an impossible task. How could he transform this young colt into a warrior? How could he ensure the colt survived more than five steps onto the battlefield? He could not.

He pawed the green grass with one hoof, but even the innate wonder at seeing green and not the ever-present blanket of white grew dim, as he realized how easily the coming battle could turn into another debilitating defeat for Narnia. Perhaps he should have remembered more fully the mistakes the Resistance had committed when they last struggled to throw off Jadis' yoke only to be utterly broken and the survivors driven into hiding. Yet, he had been so certain that with Aslan's presence and the coming of the Four of prophecy, the time was ripe for reclaiming Narnia. Part of the prophecy, the hope for spring's return, had come true when Aslan at long last rested His paws on Narnian soil again. But the rest of the prophecy… The Four…

How could Aslan use the Four to fulfill His plans when one had already turned traitor? How could the prophecy be fulfilled when he was now tasked with preparing another of the Four for slaughter? He did not understand why the Great Lion set him to this task.

Oreius slowly turned to consider the colt again. This time he felt the faintest hint of approval to find the colt on his feet and with his sword in hand. A determined look graced the young one's face. It had been a hundred years since Oreius had last seen a human (never mind that the last one was an old man being hunted by Jadis' filth), but he did not think the colt was old enough to be considered a grown stallion by human standards. Although, Humans were said to have much shorter lifespans than Centaurs, so perhaps he was mistaken. He frowned. "How old are you?"

The colt startled but he did not drop the sword. His light-colored eyes widened slightly but then he straightened his shoulders and raised his chin. "I'm thirteen, sir."

Thirteen years of age? A Centaur foal of the same age would still be safely guarded at home, encouraged to play with his age-mates and learn his schooling, not be sent into battle. At the most, a Centaur colt would have begun training under his sire's watchful eye. Oreius scowled at the thought. He seemed to recall reading once that humans were considered to be of age much sooner than the forty years of age Centaurs reckoned, but he did not think it was as young as a mere thirteen years of life.

Peter spoke again, intruding on his thoughts. "I'm strong for my age, sir. I can protect my fam…I can protect my sisters."

"But will you survive battle with creatures with decades more experience and no concept of mercy?"

He had not meant to speak the thought aloud.

The colt paled, swallowing hard, but still he didn't look away. "My understanding is that you're supposed to help me with that task, sir."

Oreius' respect for the colt rose slightly. He gave a curt nod. "Take up your sword again, colt. You must learn to focus and anticipate your enemy's actions before they cut you down. Watch their eyes, not their hands. If you watch their hands, you focus overmuch on a small area allowing for others to attack you from behind. And, many of your opponents will not have hands. Watch their eyes, take note of how their bodies move in anticipation to the attack. Minute signals will keep you alive if you know how to read them. Now watch."

He worked with the colt for three hours, only stopping when the colt dropped to both knees and seemed incapable of standing. Oreius crossed his arms, observing his breathing and adjusting the training schedule. Clearly, endurance needed to be built up or the colt would not have the strength necessary to fight for more than ten minutes whilst wearing armor.

The colt raised his head, still panting. "Is there- Is there any chance that Edmund can be saved?"

OOOOOOO

 **A/N: Please Read and Review! Also, happy Leap Day!**


	3. Part Three

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't...

Summary: Children? Children to lead the army? Narnia? And one a traitor? This was not ideal. It was swiftly turning to impossible in the eyes of one Centaur.

 **Not Ideal**

 **Part Three**

OOOOOOO

Moving was impossible. Breathing hurt. The Centaur in front of him swam as Peter forced his eyes to focus. And, he had thought running and wrestling in school had been hard. The General still hadn't answered his question. Mindful of his screaming muscles, Peter managed to ease back so he was sitting on the ground instead of kneeling. He hung his head. Sweat plastered his tunic to his back and dampened his hair. Maybe it was hopeless. Would any of the Narnians in Aslan's camp want to rescue Edmund?

"If Jadis still thinks he can serve her purpose, perhaps he will live long enough for a negotiation."

Peter jerked his head up, staring at the Centaur in disbelief. "She's going to kill him?"

The Centaur's grave face didn't change as he stated with devastating simplicity, "Jadis does not keep anyone who has outlived their usefulness to her."

Oh, Edmund! Peter bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out in dismay. The girls would be done changing and resting soon enough. How could he tell Susan (not Lucy…she was too young to face such horror) that their brother was…was likely- What was he going to tell Mum or Dad if he ever saw them again?

He stared up at Oreius, barely conscious of the fact that he was shaking his head. He couldn't speak. He could hardly breathe. What had he done? What had he condemned Edmund to? _'But that's a girl's coat?' 'I know.' You deserve it for being so cruel to Lucy. A little punishment because I know you weren't at all sorry about making Su and me fear for Lucy's sanity._

"Are you ill?"

The words jarred him out of his memory of the brief exchange with his brother and the thoughts that had driven him to add an ounce of humiliation even though he suspected that Edmund had experienced enough of that at that beastly school. He had been cruel then. Dad would not have approved. He would not have let Edmund walk into this Jadis' trap.

"Prince Peter, are you ill?"

He looked up. The Centaur's expression seemed as grave as ever yet he thought there was a hint of concern in his tone. Peter swallowed hard. The need to make this warrior understand weighed down on him like a boulder. He spread his hands, almost pleading, as he rasped, "Is there nothing we can do? Edmund doesn't deserve to die just because I drove him into a heedless, reckless act."

"How did you do this? Did you shove him into Jadis' arms?"

"No." No, he hadn't quite done that, at least not physically. He shook his head, still looking far up at the Centaur. "But, it was my responsibility to keep Edmund safe. I'm the oldest. Our parents trusted me to keep the younger three safe. I was too hard on Ed. I knew he was having issues but I didn't reach out to him like I should have. I was frustrated and short-tempered. Maybe I shouldn't have tried to fill Dad's place like I did. I don't know. I could have stopped this from happening. I could have kept Edmund from feeling he had to go to Jadis. Whatever she promised him. I could have found a way to make him see her offer wasn't really worth all that. I could have made him see it was a trap."

"If you had met Jadis together, she would have killed you both then and there or she would have ensnared you. If you had resisted and he had not, she would have killed you and sent him after your sisters." The words struck him more forcibly than any blow he had suffered previous. Yet, the Centaur's dark gaze revealed the tiniest hint of sympathy as he added, "Jadis ensnared Narnia for one hundred years of unnatural winter. She is capable of fooling many and when she senses weakness or evil in one's heart, she will bind you to her until you are no longer of use. Her tyranny permitted no place for Humans. I am still surprised that she did not kill your brother at once. However, he turned traitor and treachery appeals to Jadis."

"It wasn't his fault."

"He chose his path. I heard Beaver's report. The colt went willingly to Jadis' castle. He was not compelled by anything save his own heart."

Peter met his gaze stubbornly. He still couldn't fathom Edmund, his baby brother, betraying them out of such cruel viciousness. Surely, it was the witch. If she could cause an enchanted hundred-year winter, what chance would a ten-year-old boy from England have against her powers? "He's not like that. Yes, he can be a perfect little beast and be cruelly taunting but that doesn't mean he wants us all dead."

"Perhaps not. Yet, that is what would have happened had you and the Beavers not reached our camp before Jadis' Wolves could catch you."

A fresh wave of despair crashed over him at those words. This warrior would not be swayed. Edmund was doomed. Peter briefly considered charging into Jadis' camp and demanding his brother's return at the sword point. But how was he to even find the witch or her camp? What if Edmund was in her castle? How fast could he reach it on his own? What if Edmund _wasn't_ in her castle?

"Perhaps Aslan will be able to answer your questions more fully. I do not know what solution He might have in mind but if there is one, then He will know it." The Centaur glanced down at him. "Return to your tent and make yourself presentable, young prince. In the morn, we will address both your lack of endurance and your appalling habit of allowing your sword's point to threaten grass. These will be fixed by the time I have finished with you."

Had Peter been on his feet, he probably would have stepped back at the ominous tone used for the Centaur's promise. And he was certain that was a promise. If he felt so drained today, what would he feel like on the morrow? Probably like a floppy slug unable to even crawl. Charming thought, that.

He didn't say anything, though, just nodded. The Centaur surprised him by hauling him to his feet with such force that Peter nearly went flying forward to plant a facer on the grass. The Centaur only turned him toward the tents and sent him off with a clap on the shoulder that might have been approving.

Peter's legs felt like jelly as he walked to the tents. On his inquiry of a beaming Nymph, he learned the girls were at a tent set up near a stream instead of in the tent closest to his own. He entered his own tent and cleaned up hastily. His mind was now consumed with thoughts of Aslan, of rescuing Edmund. The Lion could save him. He would know how. If He were truly responsible for the breaking of enchanted winter, then He would be powerful enough to save Edmund.

Yet, finding the Lion wasn't as easy as Peter had expected or hoped. Every time he seemed to arrive in an area of the camp where Aslan had been and gone. After a while, he began to feel foolish. The hopeful whispers grew in volume everywhere he went as the various creatures stopped their work to stare at him with undeserved anticipation. Finally, he returned to the bluff overlooking the camp. Flags snapped and danced in the wind. The camp's denizens attended to their work. Peter stood there, one hand resting on his sword and his eyes unseeing as he once again went over everything he had said and done to Edmund since they left home. No, since _Dad_ had left home. Everything he had done wrong, everything he could done better, all of it played in his mind with painful clarity.

"Peter." The Voice rolled over him with a grand, majestic heaviness that somehow buoyed his falling spirits instead of dragging it down. His warmth and the perfume clinging to His mane surrounded Peter as the Lion came to stand beside him.

OOOOOOO

 **A/N: Please Read and Review! Okay, so I'm debating whether to have the following conversation with Aslan since it was in the movie (which I do love but don't really know if I want to lift it into my story), but I might have a second uninterrupted conversation between Aslan and Peter post-Maugrim. What do y'all think? Let me know!**


	4. Part Four

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't...

Summary: Children? Children to lead the army? Narnia? And one a traitor? This was not ideal. It was swiftly turning to impossible in the eyes of one Centaur.

 **Not Ideal**

 **Part Four**

OOOOOOO

The stars were so big and bright here. How had he never noticed before? Of course, they had all been preoccupied with running for their lives and hiding from an enemy he barely understood. Peter quietly ducked into the girls' tent, once more reassuring himself that the nightmare had been nothing more than that. That he hadn't seen Susan and Lucy torn to pieces by Maugrim. He swallowed hard at the thought, the sudden tightness in his chest not easing until he tucked the covers over both his sleeping sisters.

As soon as he left the tent, his gaze was drawn toward where he had seen the creatures vanish at Aslan's command, going after Edmund. Was his little brother even alive? Would he come with them? Or, would he be too afraid to trust the strange creatures after being caught by Jadis? If only he had thought to insist that he go too. But, by then, he had had Susan and Lucy in his arms, barely believing that they were all alive and unharmed. And, he simply hadn't thought…

Peter stopped short of his tent and hung his head. He hadn't thought. He hadn't acted fast enough. He hadn't done any of the things he needed to, should have known to do. And, Aslan wanted him to believe he was meant to be king? The High King? What did a High King even do?

Aslan had made a mistake. Peter rubbed his hand over his face as the thought shook him. How else could it be explained? Aslan and the rest of this camp had made a mistake. They weren't heroes or warriors. They were schoolchildren! Schoolchildren. He wasn't even old enough to enlist. How could he guide an army, much less an entire country?

Aslan had made a mistake.

"Peter, Son of Adam," came the rich purr. "Why do you not sleep?"

He slowly turned to face Him. The darkness could no more conceal the majestic Presence of the Great Lion than it could fully obscure light. Peter met those golden eyes only for a moment before he dropped his gaze to the ground. "I- I can't, Sir. I was thinking-"

"That I had made a mistake in choosing you and your siblings to sit in Cair Paravel."

His head jerked up and his mouth dropped open before he caught himself. "No, that is- I- Well, it doesn't make any sense!"

He flushed at the outburst and glanced around but for once it seemed none had followed Aslan or himself. The Lion seemed entirely unperturbed as He walked past him, the warmth of His body and sweet perfume clinging to His mane surrounded him like the most comfortable blanket he had ever been wrapped in. Aslan's voice pulled at him. "Will you walk with Me, Peter?"

Peter blinked. "What? I mean, I don't understand."

"Will you walk with Me, Peter?"

"I don't-"

"Peter." The gentle rumble cut him off but he didn't sense any displeasure from the Great Lion as He asked once more, "Will you walk with Me?"

"Yes." The word slipped from his lips with a weight he normally wouldn't have expected. Yet, he could not help feeling that his agreement was more significant than would be warranted for a simple walk. Still, he did not wish to call the word back. Stepping next to Him, he dared to run his fingers through His mane. It felt almost sacred and he was relieved when Aslan said nothing about it. If anything, He seemed to move a little closer, permitting Peter that measure of comforting contact.

They walked in silence to the same bluff where they had looked out over the distant shining castle Aslan had proclaimed to be Cair Paravel. There Aslan stopped. He sat, curling His tail around His paws, and then nodded to Peter. "Take your ease, Son of Adam."

Peter dropped to the ground, feeling the same bone weariness that had been haunting since he first picked up a sword under the Centaur's tutelage. The thought that the same skeptical Centaur had been given the task of rescuing his brother stirred up uneasiness. He shifted nervously before finally pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them as he blew out a nervous breath.

A warm, majestic voice flowed over him again, forcing away the nerves and the guilt. "The stars dance beautifully tonight. They rejoice that the Centaurs are once more able to read them after so many years of forced silence. The Centaurs will teach you and your siblings to navigate by the stars and perhaps even to read their dances, though that gift is not an easy one for the children of Adam and Eve to learn."

Peter looked up once more at the large, bright stars. They were so much larger and brighter than the ones at home. At least, from what he remembered. It had been a long time since he had looked up at the stars at home…before Dad had left. He shook his head at the thought. "I don't know what to do."

"I know." The kindness and understanding in His voice brought tears to his eyes, pricking and burning, but strangely, he felt no shame. Instead, he leaned closer to the Lion's warm body as He spoke. "I know your fears, Peter. I know your worries. I know your guilt, both that which you earned and that which you feel you have earned. Yet, still I have chosen you to be My High King, to rule over My country and My people above all other kings and queens of Narnia, past, present, and future."

"But, what if I fail? I failed my parents when they trusted me to look after my family. What if I fail You as well?"

"I will help you back to your feet."

Peter rested his hand in His thick, silky mane. How could Aslan promise that? Why would He promise that? "I don't understand."

"You will learn."

"But, why us? Why me? We are nothing."

"You are Mine. Have I not called you and you have answered? Do you not yet realize, Son of Adam, that I have called you because I love you? If you are Mine, do I not want what is best for you? Will I not make a way for you? Though it may be difficult for you to see at times, know that I am with you and am making a way for you. You need but choose to walk it."

The words swept over him like a warm ocean wave, shaking him to his very core. He wanted to protest that he was not worthy, he had messed up so much, but the words refused to leave his tongue. Bowing his head, Peter ground the heel of his hand against his eyes to hold back the sudden tears. His mind raced in a vain attempt to say something, anything, but nothing met his search. In the end, he could only lean heavily against the Great Lion, drinking in His Presence still in awe of His most undeserved love.

OOOOOOO

 **A/N: Please Read and Review!**


	5. Part Five

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't...

Summary: Children? Children to lead the army? Narnia? And one a traitor? This was not ideal. It was swiftly turning to impossible in the eyes of one Centaur.

 **Not Ideal**

 **Part Five**

OOOOOOO

The small, dark colt was not what he had expected to find when Aslan had charged them to bring back the second Son of Adam. Oreius tightened his hold on the limp body in his arms as he stretched out into a proper gallop. He did not trust Jadis or Otmin to let them go without some sort of fight. He still had not heard any sounds of pursuit, but that did not necessarily mean anything.

The colt moaned and he glanced down at his burden, but the colt's pale features were still slack. Oreius frowned. He had prepared himself for a hardened traitor, one who betrayed his own blood to the White Witch, yet that is not what he had found in the Witch's camp. Instead, he found this piteous colt, a mere foal who had been abused. Somehow, it was worse.

He had hardened his heart against the traitor, not a fatherless foal in such obvious need of care and protection. All of his warrior instincts and training banded together to declare the foal was to be protected. The issue of betrayal remained, yes, but he felt more than certain that would be Aslan's to tend to, not his.

Oreius shifted the colt slightly, so his head rested more securely against his shoulder. As he galloped on toward Aslan's camp, he once more wondered at the Great Lion's plan for these foals. It still was not ideal to use children. The dark colt, in particular, would likely be more fragile and vulnerable to deadly mistakes in battle.

OOOOOOO

Edmund froze, staring at the wide golden back of the Lion. Dawn's early light was only just lightening the sky but he could see Him clearly. He didn't want to go near Him. He shouldn't go near Him. He scoffed at Him, mocked Him, and…betrayed Him.

The fervent wish enveloped him that he could find Peter and beg him to protect him. Just as swiftly, it was stomped out by the crushing realization that his brother and sisters most likely wouldn't ever want to see him, much less protect him.

"Go on, colt. Aslan is waiting for you."

He jumped at the deep rumble overhead and tilted his head back to meet the solemn gaze of the huge Centaur. Fierce as he appeared, Edmund was half-tempted to cling to him. He had protected him once. Perhaps he would do so again.

A large hand pushed against his back, shoving him forward several steps. "He is waiting, colt."

OOOOOOO

The dark colt looked back at him with wide eyes. The fear written in their depth nearly made Oreius speak again, but he knew the colt needed to learn to trust Aslan on his own. Raising his chin, he jerked it toward where Aslan still sat with His back to them.

The colt looked from him to Aslan and then back to him. He swallowed hard enough that Oreius saw it easily. Then, he turned and squared his shoulders. He took one small step forward, but it was enough to reassure Oreius. The colt was not entirely downtrodden. Jadis had not succeeded in fully stripping away his strength. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance that he would stand firm against the coming storm.

OOOOOOO

 **A/N: Please Read and Review!**


	6. Part Six

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't...

Summary: Children? Children to lead the army? Narnia? And one a traitor? This was not ideal. It was swiftly turning to impossible in the eyes of one Centaur.

 **Not Ideal**

 **Part Six**

OOOOOOO

His hands moved through the now-familiar rhythm of tightening his armor straps. The armor he wore now was lighter, more elaborate, and newer than that he wore through the Long Winter, appropriate for one appointed to be the general of Aslan's army. Yet, his mind was not on that honor or the accompanying burden of responsibility. Instead, his mind continued to muse over the things he had seen.

The dark colt, the traitor, had not been at all as he had expected. More frightened than hardened. Perhaps, just perhaps, the elder colt had been correct and his brother had betrayed all without truly knowing what he had been doing or at least the true consequences of his actions. Yet, it did not erase the fact that he had been a traitor. He was still responsible for his actions, foolish or knowingly committed.

Yet… Yet, his heart still bade him to remember the colt was young. Both colts…all four of them were too young for the world they now stood in, were meant to fight in. Yet, it was Aslan's wish that he train the colts for battle, to take them into battle, no, to help them lead the way into battle.

Doubt still plagued him. The situation was still not ideal. It was not even remotely ideal. Nor did he have much time to train them and if the younger colt were badly hurt, then that would make his training even less ideal and slow, too slow for the task ahead.

His mind made up, Oreius left his tent without bothering to take his helmet. He would not have need of it just yet. Instinct drew his gaze first to the hill overlooking the camp. Aslan's golden fur gleamed bright beneath the morning sun and in His shadow, looking even smaller than before, stood the dark colt. His head was bent and his posture no longer spoke of fear but of a tentative relief and an intense focus on the conversation. Assured none had dared to trespass on the conversation, Oreius turned once more to his self-appointed task. When the Son of Adam was released from the audience, he would find not only clean and proper clothing but also a healer awaiting him. And, food. The colt was far too slight. He needed to be fed.

A rustle of fabric caught his ear as he strode between the tents. Oreius paused briefly and turned to look. The elder colt was awake. His gaze was intense and beseeching, yet Oreius did not speak. It would be easier to show him the answer to his question. He met and held Prince Peter's gaze and then slowly turned to look back at the hill. He saw the colt follow his gaze and take two swift steps forward before he caught himself.

Though he never looked back at him, Oreius still offered a slight bow. Then he continued on his way. He had not quite reached the healers when he heard the youngest Daughter of Eve cry out her brother's name in a shriek of delight. His lips quirked in a faint smile for the briefest of moments as he noted that any who had doubted the success of their quest to rescue the lost one of the Four would no longer.

After finding an available healer, he accompanied the Faun to the tent set aside for the princes. The dark colt was sitting on the ground, head in hands. Oreius exchanged a glance with the Faun. Then he turned back to the colt. "Are you injured, Son of Adam?"

"My father's name is William and mine is Edmund." Dark eyes suddenly burned into him as the colt raised his head and added softly, "Did Aslan change His mind? Am I being kicked out of the camp?"

Oreius raised an eyebrow. "Aslan has not given me any such order and I will not permit you to be ostracized or banished until I receive such an order from the Lion Himself." He gestured to the Faun. "This is Erresus. He is a healer and will tend your wounds."

The colt slowly stood up but did not seem too wary as Erresus moved toward him, already asking questions.

Oreius left the tent and sought out the One to whom he most needed to speak. He found Him still on the hilltop overlooking the camp and the lands east. Aslan did not turn toward him, only spoke. "Come closer, Oreius. Speak your mind."

He came closer, resting his hands on his sword hilts, as he struggled with the words he knew he must say. "I should not have questioned Your orders."

"Perhaps I delight in your questions. To question what you do not understand is not disobedience, after all."

Oreius pawed at the green grass and added, "I still do not understand Your plan. The ones You have chosen to sit at Cair Paravel are not as I had always assumed they would be."

"Not warriors grown, you mean." Aslan's rich chuckle flowed over him before He continued, "That is why I have chosen them. When something or someone small is used to bring about great change it is easier for all to remember that it is by My will and My Father's, not their own strength or cunning. The four children who dismayed you so in the beginning will not do so for very long, Oreius. The Son of Narnia will learn that Sons and Daughters of Adam and Eve I have chosen are the correct ones for Narnia." The Great Lion paused and looked up at him, His golden eyes twinkling. "It is also why I have chosen you to train them. Peter and Edmund will challenge you and help you to grow as well. Indeed, that has already begun. Do you trust Me, Oreius?"

"Yes, Aslan." Oreius started to leave and then he turned back to find Aslan watching him. "It is still not ideal from a tactical standpoint."

The Great Lion merely chuckled. "Go and find your students, Oreius. Train them and remember I have a purpose in all of this."

With those final words ringing in his ears and resonating in his heart, Oreius bowed low. Obeying his Lord's command, he met the four foals as they left the remains of their morning meal. Peter drew himself up immediately but Edmund stepped back slightly before he caught himself and met his gaze steadily. As their sisters went to join the archers, Oreius studied the two colts before him. "We will begin a more vigorous training schedule today. Prince Edmund." The colt jerked his head up in surprise, but he ignored that. "You have no weapon, so our first task is to see you are properly armed. Then you and your brother will run laps. Erresus did not come to find me, so I trust your injuries are not such as could interfere with your training. Afterwards, you learn the basic skills required to fight with a sword. When you are accomplished enough on foot, you will learn to fight mounted."

"Laps?" the golden colt echoed.

"Mounted?" His brother tossed him a look Oreius was certain held a scolding.

"Indeed. Prince Peter, our initial lessons have demonstrated that you are in dire need of more endurance. And, no doubt your brother is the same. There will not be much time to build your endurance to the point I would prefer, so we will have to make do. Once your armor has been prepared, you will both learn to run and fight while wearing it." He shifted his gaze to the dark colt and continued, "Yes, mounted. You are both smaller than the majority of your opponents in addition to being easily lost in the crowd if you fought solely on foot. The best countermeasure is to have you both at a high point where we can more easily keep track of you and to give you a better advantage when fighting. Now, come. We have much to do."

OOOOOOO

 **A/N: Please Read and Review! The next chapter shall be the last one for this story. Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one.**


	7. Part Seven

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't...

Summary: Children? Children to lead the army? Narnia? And one a traitor? This was not ideal. It was swiftly turning to impossible in the eyes of one Centaur.

 **Not Ideal**

 **Part Seven**

OOOOOOO

It wasn't ideal. Not in the least and yet, here they stood. Aslan came up beside him, His presence warm and comforting and miraculous. Peter could still remember the Cherry Dryad carrying the news of His death, of the terror that gripped him when he walked into the empty tent and the full weight of the news settled on him. Going into battle without Aslan. Going into battle with only a fraction of the training he and Edmund had really needed. He had seen that concern in Oreius' eyes after they finished their last training session and that had been before Aslan's death.

Yet, the Centaur had shown no hesitation in allowing him and Edmund to adjust their plan of attack. He had even promised to stand with him to the death. It had been both humbling and comforting. Just as having Aslan with them now.

Peter glanced over at Edmund, still not quite believing that he was alive and well. He was also fidgeting with his tunic. Peter brushed a hand down the front of his own tunic. The rich fabric wasn't uncomfortable to wear, merely…strange. Then a rich Voice spoke. "Be at peace, My children. No one here intends to eat you."

Lucy giggled and even Susan laughed while Edmund smirked. Peter grinned. Aslan shook His mane, sending the sweet perfume clinging to it throughout the antechamber. Peter inhaled deeply, drinking in the sudden sense of calm, of peace filling the room. He took a step forward. "Is it time then?"

Aslan smiled. "It is time, dear ones."

OOOOOOO

The distance yawned in front of him. All the eyes watching. The expectation and excitement was palpable, though all maintained a respectful silence as the trumpets and horns' final notes shimmered into nothingness. Edmund let out a slow breath. Peter nudged his arm. Edmund glanced up and met his big brother's eyes. It was strange how reassuring it was to see him give that little nod like Dad used to. It used to make him so angry when Peter tried to mimic Dad, but now…he was glad for a reminder of home.

He looked again at those four thrones and swallowed hard. Was he really going to be a king? Aslan believed he could be, but what would happen later? Aslan was probably too busy to stay in Narnia all the time. What would happen when He left?

They were already almost to the dais. He wasn't sure this would work. He was hardly the ideal king. He wasn't even an ideal boy!

He glanced to his left. General Oreius' dark gaze met his and the stern Centaur's features cracked into a smile and he offered the tiniest nod of approval.

Edmund took a deep breath and stepped onto the dais. Not ideal…but maybe not as isolated as he feared.

OOOOOOO

Oreius watched as the Four attempted to keep up with their dance partners. He smiled as he watched Queen Lucy laughing. Of the foals, she seemed to be the only one to catch on quickly to the dance. Apparently, these dances were not taught in Spare Oom. Strange land, that it was.

The colts had recovered well from Beruna. He watched the dark colt critically, but he showed no ill effects from his brushes with death. Still, the near-drowning by the Fell Naiad had been enough to stress the need to ensure that all four royals were well-suited to water. The golden colt was catching on faster to the dance, though once he had moved too slowly and the Nymph he had been dancing with had fallen as a result. Fortunately, her good spirits had allowed her to laugh the misstep away.

A flash of movement caught his attention. Oreius glanced once more at the Four then noted the guards present. It was unlikely that any of the Fell would be bold enough to attack during the coronation, but there was always a need for caution. He would not permit Narnia to lose her royals just as they had been crowned. One last check to assure himself and then he left the Great Hall.

He did not have to go far before he found Him. Aslan looked back at him and then nodded. "General, you are missing the celebration."

"As are You," Oreius countered. He fell into step with the Great Lion, walking in silence for several minutes. "You are leaving us already."

"It is time. I am needed elsewhere and now is the time for Narnia and the Four to grow and learn as they could not if they saw Me here." Aslan looked up at him and added, "Faith is always stronger when it occurs without seeing. Narnia must learn to look to the Four and the Four must continue to learn to look to Me. These things will be best accomplished when I am away."

Oreius considered. "Another refining."

"Indeed." Aslan chuckled. "And, Oreius, you might consider permitting Peter and Edmund an extra day before beginning the new training regimen."

"Perhaps." Oreius stopped just outside of Cair Paravel's gates, his gaze drifting to the pristine white walls and the banners snapping in the breeze. Even now he could still hear the music playing and general sounds of merriment. "Not ideal…" He looked back at Aslan. "…But what we needed."

The Great Lion bowed His head. "Now you understand, General. I leave the Four in your hands. Guide them well. Raise them well."

Oreius bowed low. "I shall ever strive to do as You command, My Lord Aslan."

He did not reply beyond an approving purr and, when Oreius straightened, He was already walking toward the beach. Oreius did not follow.

"He is leaving?"

Oreius looked over his shoulder. Nephele was watching Aslan's retreat. She brushed a stray lock of hair out her eyes and tapped a hoof before turning her gaze to him. Oreius gave a curt nod. "He is needed elsewhere."

Nephele sighed. "A pity. I had hoped to speak with Him about some stories." Her gaze shifted to the palace rising high above and then she smiled slightly. "Chronicling the reign of the Four shall be most interesting, based on their fulfillment of the prophecy."

"Indeed. You intend to join the royal scribes, then?"

The Centauress nodded. "In addition to staying in the army. I have already spoken with Bayheart." She smiled slightly. "Though, perhaps we should not chronicle King Peter letting his partner fall during the coronation celebration. Good evening, General."

Oreius turned back to the sea. He could not see Aslan nor did he know if He still walked along the beach. He raised his eyes to the sky. The stars were not out yet. However, he felt certain that they too would carry the message: That which is not ideal is often what is needed.

OOOOOOO

 **A/N: Please Read and Review! So, another tale has ended. I hope you enjoyed this imagining of what happened in the early days of Narnia meeting their future kings and queens, the children who were not ideal. :) I started this story as a belated birthday present for my dear friend and fellow author Willowdryad. Now, I end it as an early birthday present for her. Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one.**


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